Monday, February 16, 2009

Time Machine

I was dreaming I had a time machine to return to just last nightwhen I kissed you and for your swift requite I couldn't stop the plightof taking you quickly, as gripped by your intentions, into my arms to holdand keeping you still naked but close beside me underneath the covers from cold

I was writing some words; creating a feeling and imagining a moodwhen you sat right beside me asking why I'd write and not look at youso I showed you what I'd wrote that far and fulfilled my fictional prophecyand who'd have thought those words would step off the page into reality so honestly

yes, dreaming of the night I was, from the moment I awoke and had to leaveturn back the hands of time I prayed out loud and for them not a second I grievedand paced the steps down from your room to be outside and stop to glance upat your room and the curtains still a little open and think of how one night's never enough

so I pulled out my pen and paper and picked up where last night left offand wrote the rest of the truth that happened and concluded with the costof not being able to know you mostly now or even close to an end as foreverand how though I know of care I'm long-term incapable I'll always remember when we were together